


My Love's In Amerikay

by shessocold



Series: AUs [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 70s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, American Remus Lupin, Banter, Drinking, Extended Families, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy, Implied Sexual Content, Ireland, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marauders' Era, Meet-Cute, Muggle James Potter, Muggle Peter Pettigrew, Muggle Remus Lupin, Muggle Sirius Black, No Angst, POV Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Songfic, Strangers to Lovers, like at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shessocold/pseuds/shessocold
Summary: Remus didn't even know the guy.





	My Love's In Amerikay

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOZHwWFjb30) while/after you read.

Jim Dwyer, supposedly, is Remus' great uncle on his mother's side (the part of the family they never really see). Remus doesn't think he has ever heard the name mentioned before, let alone actually met the guy, so he's understandably baffled when his mother announces that they will all have to attend his funeral -which she says is turning into an impromptu family reunion.

“When is the funeral?” 

“Next Thursday.” 

“Oh, that's a shame, mom. I have, uh, a big algebra test on Friday, I think it's better if I stay home and study – right, dad?” 

“Cut the crap, Remus,” says his dad, from behind the newspaper. “Even if you really had a test – and we both know you just made it up – you are not going to be in school on Friday.” 

“Huh? Why not? Dad, it's a really important test, I swear!” 

“The funeral is in Dublin. But fear not, I will check the schedule of the Concorde as soon as I get to the office – anything for my son's imaginary school career. Hope, honey, is there any more coffee left?” 

** 

“Dublin? I didn't know you were Irish.” 

“I'm not,” says Remus, irritably, unwrapping his lunch. “And the dead guy wasn't either. I think _maybe_ his father was born in Ireland, but that's it. Man, I really, really don't want to go.” 

Peter snorts. 

“Dude, if the idea of a holiday abroad pisses you off so badly, we can switch. I go to Ireland, you stay here with my mom. If you're really lucky you might even get a visit from my grandma and Luther – his table manners are improving, I swear, last time he came for dinner I ended up only _partially_ covered in cottage cheese particles.” 

Remus sighs, his mouth full of turkey sandwich. 

“Is it Ireland where they eat boiled sheep stomach?” 

“Scotland, I think. But who cares about the food! You get to skip school, you can probably buy beer on your own...” 

“I don't like beer.” 

“... there will be plenty of hot ginger cousins for you to console, and when I say 'console' I mean 'bang'...” 

“Peter, you are disgusting.” 

“Don't knock it 'til you try it, is all I'm saying.” 

“I am _not_ going to bang my Irish relatives, and that's my final word.” 

“We'll see.” 

** 

Remus' uncle (by marriage, Remus reminds himself, in an attempt to feel marginally less mortified) drives them all from the airport in a rented Cadillac that is just as huge, shiny and dumb as he himself is, and he parks it right in front of the house. The car immediately attracts a sizeable crowd of local kids, kids who – by the sound of it – are making plans to steal it as soon as 'the Yanks' get distracted for a second. Remus rather hopes that they succeed. 

"Hotwire her with a pin, lads,” suggests an amused voice, from behind Remus. Remus looks around. The aspiring criminal mastermind is a guy, about Remus' age, and possibly the best-looking person Remus has ever laid his eyes on. Remus blinks. The guy grins. 

“Say, are you Remus? There's a woman inside who I think is your mother, and she wants you to go and have a look at the dead bloke. My condolences, by the way.” 

“I didn't know him at all, actually,” says Remus. 

“Well, that makes two of us, at least. Three, with James, but I don't know if I trust him on this, he's terrible with faces and names.” 

Remus tries and fails to think of something sensible to say. 

“Are you from New York?” says the guy, eventually. 

Remus shakes his head, grateful for the opportunity to keep the conversation going. 

“Boston. Are you from around here? Are you,” he asks, with a certain trepidation, “some sort of cousin of mine?” 

The guy laughs. 

“Not unless my mother has some serious explaining to do, no,” he says, to Remus' overwhelming relief. “I'm a friend of James', who I believe is indeed related to you in some complex, roundabout way – and also currently trapped inside with about a million of his aunts and uncles. I'm Sirius, by the way. And I'm English, like James, but don't repeat that too loudly around here.” 

“Remus,” says Remus, shaking Sirius' profferred hand. 

“Yeah, I know that. I'm out here on your mother's orders, remember?” 

Remus grins. He reluctantly lets go of Sirius' hand. 

“You know what, I really don't want to go look at the dead guy.” 

“Once again, that makes two of us, at least. But I'll tell you a secret, this being at least the third Irish funeral I get to attend: I reckon we're about fifteen minutes away from our first taste of whiskey.” 

“ _What_? But it's a funeral, what does booze have to do with anything?” 

“Trust me on this. I bet you two quids everyone around here will be pissed by five o'clock, tops.” 

Remus chuckles. 

“Yeah, sure. Especially my mom, I bet, she's really the type who would drink at a funeral.” 

Sirius laughs. 

“Oh, you'll see.” 

** 

Remus' mom gets so drunk that, to Remus' simultaneous horror and hilarity, she ends up falling on her ass right into an ornamental shrub. Remus' dad sits down next to her, too overwhelmed with hysterical laughter to do anything else. Nobody else seems to notice or care. 

“See? I told ya,” says Sirius, offering Remus a fresh glass of liquor. Remus downs half of it in a single gulp. “Sláinte!” 

“This is amazing," says Remus. "I wish I had a camera – I'd blackmail my parents for the rest of their lives.” 

Sirius grins, his pretty eyes glinting wickedly in the sunset. 

“Say, how about we leave your parents to their own devices and go get ourselves acquainted with each other behind that garden shed over there?” 

Remus spits out the rest of his whiskey. 

“Are you... are you coming on to me?” he sputters, baffled. “Is this for real?” 

“Why, yes, I suppose I am. I'd normally go for a slightly more subtle approach, but given the circumstan– ” 

“Shut up,” says Remus, half-delirious with glee. “We've already wasted enough time. Let's go.” 

** 

_Pete –_

_It wasn't even a ginger. You're really fucking terrible as a clairvoyant. _

_R._

**Author's Note:**

> Remus with a Boston accent, lol.


End file.
